


George's Mourning Morning

by sammialex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammialex/pseuds/sammialex
Summary: George couldn't just celebrate with everyone else.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77
Collections: Pacify Fan-Works: Fanfics for a Fanfic





	George's Mourning Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pacify Part 5: Safety](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24507556) by [Chickenpets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickenpets/pseuds/Chickenpets). 



> Inspired by Pacify Part 5, Chapter 4 "Charlie laughed. He himself could hold his liquor better than most - part of dealing with Dragons for a living - and felt pretty good despite having stayed up half the night with George, who he’d found alone in the kitchen at three in the morning."

It was midnight, and everyone was still celebrating in the Great Hall. How many times had George celebrated at Hogwarts? How many parties had George hosted with Fred, after sneaking into the kitchens to get snacks and bribing the house elves to give them butterbeer? 

(They had found the kitchens in their first year, running from Filch after dropping a dung bomb in the hallway when they were too inexperienced with mischief to notice Mrs Norris watching them.) 

George got up from his seat, no one noticed him there anyway. He had never felt invisible before. Guess this was a benefit of always being so loud - when he was quiet, no one saw him at all. Or maybe it was just that he was only half of what he used to be, and took up so much less space. He wandered out of the hall, and down the first staircase he could see. 

("Freddie, I think we’re going the wrong way!" "Preposterous, Georgie, we’re going the way to get us there!" "Where’s there?" "Why, wherever we’re gonna end up, of course!") 

It was one in the morning, and George found himself staring at a painting of fruit in a silver bowl. The pear actually waved at him. The audacity. Maybe it was just as touch starved as he felt. Empty. Alone. He reached out a finger and tickled the pear. 

(Fred always tickled the pear. He had been first around the corner back when they found it, and he’d seen Peeves talking to the fruit. Caught between Peeves and Filch, Fred had sauntered right up to the poltergeist and said, “dung bomb, my good sir?”)

The pear giggled and turned into a door handle, and the painting swung forward giving George his first glimpse into the kitchens. There were no elves excited to see him carrying trays of food. He stood in the doorway and stared. It was so quiet. 

("After you, Freddie!" "No no, Georgie, I must insist, you first!") 

It was three in the morning, and George was sitting at a table. Fred always made them sit at the table closest to the fireplace at the end, so the elves had to bring all the food right past them and he could snag anything he wanted off the top. It was empty. He was alone. 

(The first time they’d come, the house elves had been overjoyed to see them. “Misters Weasley! Would Misters Weasley like some tea?” “Such good service!”) 

The door to the kitchens cracked open. A head of red hair popped through. George caught his breath. Had Fred come back? Was he a ghost? Did he choose to stay? 

“Hey George,” said Charlie.


End file.
